#oh to be a rich person with an expensive bed setup

[favoniuscodex]

diluc probably wears fancy silk pajamas or like the really soft cotton ones either way he’s so warm and comfy sleeping next to him feels like heaven esp w his hair down and getting to feel his floofy locks hhhh

he likely has silk sheets and a silk pillowcase. they hold less bacteria and are nicer to his longer hair than cotton ones would, plus he has the money for really really nice ones,,,, anyways before i go on a rant about his bed setup, i’d agree that he probably has really nice pajamas but then comes home after his darknight hero escapades, flings off his clothes, and falls asleep in just his underwear because 1. he’s exhausted 2. he’s injured and 3. he doesn’t want to be restricted by the pajama fabric. probably has the softest blankets known to man on his bed too

#oh to be a rich person with an expensive bed setup #silk sheets with soft blankets ;;; screams #//mail #mail.diluc

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 1)

And the winner of the Scarlet Vision Drabbles Voting is... Advanced Settings! With Custom Skin as a close second. Luckily this one is turning out waaay longer than I thought it would be, so I had to break it into two parts. Second part will come out later this week. 

It’s been awhile since I’ve fanfic dabbled, so this has felt really nice. I feel I will be writing more about these soulmates.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

Wanda made her way down the narrow stairs, holding her two bags close to her person. The creaky boards protested against her dainty weight and brown chips of aged paint flaked away with each step of her boots. She strode to the stained plaid couch in the musty living area and plopped down her burdens. A roach scurried out from between the cushions and zoomed to the sanctuary of a hole in the upholstered armrest.

No… she would not miss this location.

“Has anyone seen my… oh, I see it.” Wanda walked to the defunct treadmill in the corner of the room, plucking her ear-pods from the treadmill’s control panel. The train ride would be long and music was the only way she would survive it. She shoved the corded earphones into her jacket pocket with her phone and smoothed the sides of her hair behind her ears as she ran through her mental checklist again.

“Got your ticket?” Natasha inquired over a near empty dinner plate, supplying the reminder, not out of real concern but rather a sense of familial normalcy. She was a stern but stunning mother hen.

“Ah… yes!” Wanda had to pat herself down and found the ticket in her back pocket. She held it up victoriously before putting it in the smaller of her bags. “I think I have everything…”

“Not everything.” Steve’s rich tenor voice cut in over the hissing and bubbling of the shabby kitchenette that occupied the same small space as the living area. He placed a plate of peppered chicken, plain rice, and steamed broccoli in front of Wanda before draping a dish towel over a toned shoulder. “No one should travel on an empty stomach. Eat up.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at the the corny paternal grin he gave, but accepted the plate. She took her seat at one of the mismatched chairs that occupied the dingy room, refusing to sit on the couch with food. 

“Moscow… my old stomping grounds.” Nat sighed, before taking another bite of chicken. “Shto-to s chem-to.” Her Russian was comically muffled by food.

“I’ll take pictures.” Wanda promised, scarfing rice. “I’m forcing myself to take in more of scenery this time. But I swear once I’m in a hotel, all I want to do is shower and never leave the bed.”

Wanda winced as soon as she dropped that setup.

“Oooooh? Do tell…” Wanda had actually forgotten that Sam was in the room as well, as small as it was. He had been unusually quiet, nursing some leg soreness from a tech-recalibration injury. Nothing seriously hurt, save for pride. The plastic baggies of ice duct-taped to his thighs sloshed and clacked as he shifted in the only run-down chair with padding. “And when exactly are we gonna meet this mystery boyfriend of yours? Who pays your way to exotic locations and expensive hotels, hmmm?”

Wanda gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… and forked more food into her mouth to occupy it.

Sam chuckled at the intentional silence. “I see how it is.”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets.” Nat supplied, taking her plate to the sink to rinse. “Besides, I don’t recall you being very open about your copious tawdry affairs back at Avenger Headquarters.” Wanda smiled down at her food, thankful for the deflection of topic.

“Copious, yes. Tawdry… never.” Sam grinned back, putting his joined hands up behind his head in bemusement, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an open book about the ladies, Steve can tell yah.”

Steve shook his head, but acknowledged it was true with a dimpled grin. A far cry from his blank expression that used to overshadow his stoic face at any mention of Avengers history. It had been 8 brutal months since the fall-out with Tony Stark and the US government.

“And as I seem to recall, Romanoff, you were caught more than once coming back to the compound. Late. Shoeless….” Sam continued.

“Late night scrapbooking.” The ex-assassin responded dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

“And then we have Mr. Virtue over there. Clamped tighter than a nun’s thighs…” Sam continued.

Steve gave an innocent shrug. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Nat was looking down, but gave a small grin, arms folded over her chest. Wanda briefly wondered if the two had ever connected on a level other than as a commander and his right-hand.

“Tony, well… Tony had Pepper.” The topic was exhausted, but he kept talking. Steve turned away, back to the grimy stove to tidy-up. “Brody,  shit, I don’t know how Brody had time for anything other than cleaning up after Stark, but he consistently wowed even me with all his ‘war stories’ in the battle of love.”

“And Clint was the honorable family-man.” Wanda said half-heartedly. She turned her wrist up to check the time on her watch.

“Yeah. Good man. Good man.” Sam nodded, respect for the settled existence that Hawkeye had found and chose over a life on the run. “And then there was Vision...”

Wanda’s grip on her fork slightly tightened. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure that guy out. He invited to his room, like, twice to talk about a painting he purchased. Twice. One of the three things in his room. A little odd…”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. The painting was a New York Street Artist’s rendition of the Tree of Life. The artist was also blind. He created a picture from memory, using odd colors to convey a synthetic translation to the image to stand out against what would be considered normal and correct. It created something beautiful and breathtaking in the process. It resinated with Vision deeply. The proceeds went to a medical facility that specialized in therapeutics for children with disabilities. Wanda had been there with the Synthezoid when he had become enamored with it at first sight. Had come to his room numerous times afterwards to talk about it, or just sit with him, staring at it’s mastery as he read aloud.

“I don’t think he ever…you know?” Sam finally said. It cut through Wanda’s thoughts. “I mean, how could he? I don’t think he even had the… machinery… for it. Poor guy.”

“Sam…” Steve didn’t have to look at Wanda to feel her bristling. He didn’t always understand it, but he knew that she had a close friendship with the synthezoid.

“Oh don’t tell me you never wondered about it.” Sam huffed.

“No, Sam. I don’t wonder about a teammate’s junk.” Steve turned around, impatient that his friend wasn’t picking up on his annoyance. He took a sip from a mug of black coffee.

“Or lack, there of.” Sam countered, oblivious.

“I have to go.” Wanda stated, louder than needed. She went to the sink with her plate.

“To be fair, Vision has molecular control of his physical structure and density.” Natasha continued, to Steve’s surprise. “So, in theory, he could get the job done. But it would be very one-sided.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “How so?” 

“I imagine it would be like using an over-elaborate vibrator. All sensation for the partner… nothing for him.” Nat shrugged. “A safe and controlled simulation, where there is nothing asked of you.”

Sam blinked at the thought-out response. “Damn, Romanoff…”

Dishes clanked loudly, even angrily, at sink. Wanda didn’t meet Steve’s concerned look. “Sorry I don’t have time to clean these.” She strode to her bags on the couch and muttered a farewell before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed shut with the flick of Wanda’s wrist and a flash of bright scarlet energy. 

Sam’s brown eyes drifted from the door where the youngest teammate had just left. He glanced at Steve and Nat. “Did I say something?”

“We all did.” Steve put his mug down on the counter, brows knit in concern. “Vision is her friend. She misses him.” He gazed at the hot brown liquid in his mug thoughtfully, thinking of those who he missed. “We shouldn’t have talked about her friend that way.”

“Oh…” Sam blinked, and then frowned at himself. “I didn’t  think… Should I go and-?“

“Just stop talking for a sec and take your pills.” Nat interrupted, striding over to him to offer two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I’ll go talk to her. Smooth things over before she leaves.” Sam nodded sheepishly and accepted her offerings.

Steve made a noise of protest, to perhaps leave Wanda be, but Nat gave him an understanding “Time for Girl Talk” wink before stalking after her companion’s trail out the door.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with Wanda, who walking down the stretch of road to the nearest bus pick-up to take her to the station.

“Hey.” Nat called, not even out of breath after the jog. “You did forget something,” she held up a flash drive. “…with the next meet-up location, job details, instruction on-“

“How could you say all that about him?” Wanda shot back.

Nat considered her young teammate… her friend… for a moment. “Well, it’s the kind of thing I would say if I didn’t think that you had an intimate relationship with Vision going on, currently.”

Wanda’s lips thinned into a firm line. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

“It’s the kind of thing that throws the boys off the trail about what I saw in the Netherlands when I tailed you.” Nat shook her blonde-dyed head. “I hate lying to teammates. Especially Steve. But out of respect for you and female bonding, I’ve kept my word. Keep yours and don’t let your feelings ruin your focus.”

“If you think my focus is a problem, why even let me go?” Wanda asked.

“I wouldn’t.” Nat retorted. “But Rogers seems to think you deserve some semblance of a young-adulthood. He thinks your mysterious Euro-boyfriend phase is healthy for you. And that’s of utmost importance, considering how closely your control is tethered to your emotions.”

Blunt, as always, but Wanda appreciated the honesty. And the freedom. She reached out for the flash drive after a moment. “I’ll keep my head down. Check in when I need to.”

Nat nodded approvingly, then turned to leave.

“Natasha,” Wanda called, halting her friend. “Did…did you mean what you said, though?” She searched Nat’s guarded blue eyes for truth. “That…he can’t feel what I...”

The silent response was deafening.

“That I’m  just… using him?” Wanda finally ventured.

“I won’t pretend to understand… any of that.” Natasha shrugged. “But what does it really matter what I think?”

It wasn’t reassurance. And the cold sentiments expressed in the apartment would loop themselves in Wanda’s head, no matter how loud she turned up her music on the bus. And then later on the long train ride.

As farmland and rolling hillsides blurred past, Wanda kept her forehead pressed against the cool glass of her window. She felt like Vision, her mind endlessly running and playing out memories and scenarios whether she wanted it or not. Analyzing and computing to try and find a solution to ease the pit in her stomach. 

She knew that Vision could feel. She had stumbled upon that realization during one of their first few kisses, 5 months ago. What linked her given abilities to it’s source in Vision’s forehead, though unexplainable, proved that what she felt for him…label-less yet profound…he definitively felt for her. And her absence from him, the lack of that engulfing feeling, caused him a wounding loneliness. It’s what had made Wanda want to give herself fully to him.

But with the introduction of intimate relations 1 month later…

Vision had learned everything there was to know about her body and what delighted it. What actions and sentiments yielded the most sincerest, and surfeited, responses. Always so lost in her desires and satisfaction, she always believed it when he said that his greatest pleasure was bringing about hers. But if she really thought about it…. really thought about it…

Wanda pulled her knees into her chest, boot heels digging into her seat. 

He didn’t moan. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t heave. He didn’t lose himself like she could completely in him. His eyes never left her face even when she had to close hers in convulsive ecstasy. His broad and handsome smile was always waiting for her when she would come back to reality. Waiting and in need of no reprieve.

She hated this feeling. This feeling that she was doing something wrong. That she was taking and taking without giving when she would literally set the world on fire if it meant Vision’s well-being.

Wanda was so consumed that she didn’t look up to take in the environment of Moscow as the taxi pulled in to take her to the hotel. She almost dreaded it. She was tugging at her sleeves to cover more of her hands. Did Vision have resentment about this? That she could flaunt how human she could be when he couldn’t? She hadn’t thought about that when she took the plunge to have him. She had followed instincts and emotion… like always. Wanda rubbed her forehead, upset with herself.

She checked in as usual, requesting a key to a room under “Victor Shade”, always left for her at the front per Mr. Shade’s instructions. The front desk clerk was beaming at Wanda, expressing how nice Victor was and how he talked about his world-traveling girlfriend with so much admiration. Wanda smiled weakly and accepted the extra $100 room credit gift because Victor was just “so sweet to hotel staff”.

Wanda stepped off the elevator and drudged down the hall to their room. She arrived and took her keycard out, ready to use it on the card-scanner, when the door swung wide open. 

Vision was there, beaming down at her stunned face, keycard still held up in her hand. Though of course, at the risk of being seen even for an instant, he was visible in his human mapping. Blonde hair smoothed with a slight, playful waive. Skin fair but peppered with human imperfections like freckles, freshly shaved skin texture. But his cerulean eyes were the same piercing blue true to his actual form.

“The front desk computer confirmed your arrival.” He said, to quell her surprise. “Wanda. Darling.” He said, deeply, and reverently. “Welcome to-“

Wanda let her bags fall to the floor and leaped up into his arms, legs wrapped as high on his torso as she could manage, lips crushing the end of his sentence. Vision grinned handsomely against her needy lips.

“I’ve missed you.” She managed finally, pressing her cheek against his.

“I reciprocate your sentiments.” He combed graceful fingers through her auburn hair. “Considerably, so.

***

Ever the perfect gentlesynthe, Vision carried his barnacle of a girlfriend to the suite’s luxury bathroom. She detached from his waist with a gasp as he showed her the candlelit bathroom, large clawfoot tub frothing with lavender scented bubbles, soft piano renditions of movie love-themes emanated from a portable radio he had relocated from the bed stand. He gave a controlled ray from the mindstone in his forehead to bring the lukewarm temperature of the bath back to a simper again.

“Vision… this is…”

“Exactly what you need after a long day of training and travel.” He placed a hand on either side of her head tenderly and tilted her forehead up to plant a kiss. His human facade shimmered away with the contact. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Wanda then realized that she didn’t even eat her whole dinner. Hours ago. She reconsidered. “Well…”

“How about Olivier Salad? Or Shuba? Better known as ‘Herring under a Fur Coat’? A Russian delicacy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at Vision.

“Cocktail shrimp and cheese sticks it is. “ He grinned at her default preference.

“And wine! You know the kind I like…” She added, unzipping her jacket.

Vision smiled, emitting a chuckle. He left her in privacy to unwind and rejuvenate, while he called down to the front about room service to be delivered in 30 minutes. He then sat down to compose a note on hotel stationary, thanking the staff for the lovely presentation of the room and the warm reception for his Wanda. Satisfied with the flourish of his penmanship, he then accessed streaming guides to find vintage sitcoms that might please Wanda.

Only 10 minutes had passed when he heard his name being called from the bathroom.

The synthezoid was there in an instant, concern conveyed in his tone. “Wanda, I’m here. Are you-“

“I’m fine, Vis.” His human girlfriend peeked over the tub’s edge, visible only from her shoulders and up. Her long hair was wound in a sloppy bun, piled atop her head. “I just… wanted to look at you…”

Vision felt his lips curl into yet another smile. A frequent, unprompted state of expression when Wanda was near. “And…?” He inquired, kneeling to the floor to gain eye-level with her rich hazel gaze. 

Wanda bit her lip, taking his hands in her own, lacing her soapy fingers with his maroon digits. “And… I think you are wearing far too much. For a bubble bath.”

“You would like me to join you?” Vision asked, after a beat of processing the subtextual request. “Would that not defeat the purpose of… relaxing?”

“I’m tired of relaxing alone.” Wanda retorted, leaning her head down against their joined hands. “Come assist me.”

Vision stood, untangling his fingers from hers, and began stripping down. He could easily phase through his clothing, but he found the act of undressing much more interesting and human than being unencumbered by the physical properties of clothing. It also slowed down his naturally speedy rhythm of existence, which he observed pleased Wanda. The human drank in the sight of her nude synthetic boyfriend, mindlessly swirling her index finger around in the warm water she soaked in.

One long vibranium-infused leg stepped into the tub. Wanda maneuvered to the far end to make room, until Vision had sat down, adjusting his sculpted length to the confined space. She floated herself to sit on his lap, her back leaning heavily into his chest, auburn head resting against the dip of his shoulder. She signed deeply and emitted a noise of contentment at the feeling of him against her. Vision brought a hand up to cup her dainty shoulder. The other slipped across her belly, splayed out to absorb the toned smoothness of her.

“This feels nice.” Wanda murmured. Vision smiled into her neck, planting a firm kiss at the base. “Does this feel nice, Vision?”

Something in her tone of her inquiry sounded peculiar. As if there was an answer she was desiring. It puzzled the Synthezoid, who had most of her variations of responses and phrasings committed to his memory. But humans were complex and ever-evolving. Wanda was no exception.

“I am very content  to be a variable in your relaxation.” Vision retorted. He was met with silence. She was unable to see the smile on his face falter. “Unless… you wish for something more stimulating now…” HIs hand skimmed through the water, over slick skin, down her navel, to the her silky region. Seeking her sensitive entrance…

Wanda lightly clenched her thighs together, pulling his hand up out of the water and kissing his knuckles. “I just want to sit like this for a bit, Vis.”

There was a pause before his response. It made Wanda wince. “Of course, darling. Whatever you desire.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Is this alright?”

“Yes…it feels nice. It always feels nice.” Again, her words said pleasant things, but conveyed a tone ill-at-ease.

“Wanda?” 

She turned to face Vision, straddling his lap. Chest to chest.

“I’m sorry….I…” She sighed deeply. “Natasha said something and… it got to me.” Wanda looked up into Vision’s cerulean eyes. “I don’t… use you… do I? When we are together?”

“Use me?” What an odd statement.  His hand cupped the side of her face. “I have no qualms about being put to ‘use’ by you, Wanda. Ever. If that is what you ask.”

“No. I mean… ugh, how do I say this….”

“You know you can say anything, Wanda. I’m made of vibranium. I won’t be damaged.”

Wanda smiled weakly. He had come so fair in his speech patterns. Had learned personality traits that he obviously preferred. She could feel… him… a soul within, if that was what it was. She took comfort in that. 

“When we come together, intimately-“

“Sexually.” Vision supplied. Unabashed.

Wanda huffed. “Yes…sexually… you give so much. And I’m not complaining. At all. It’s… unreal.” 

Vision smiled tenderly, placing another hand on her other cheek, kissing her lips the way she had showed him awhile ago. He liked the little noises she made when he did so. And would watch her face as their lips departed from one another, her eyes usually heavy with serenity and arousal.

But not tonight.

“What do I give you, Vision?” Her inquiry was direct. She rested a cream-colored hand against the rich maroon and reflective vibranium of his chest.

Vision tilted his head at her. “Your pleasure and well-being is of paramount significance to me.” His eyes blinked excessively as she pulled her face away from his contact. He had said something unsatisfactory. “Is that not enough?”

Wanda’s gaze was now downcast. “I suppose I underestimated how much it would mean to me. To not be able to give you pleasure. To not see you able to take it for yourself, instead of just for my sake.”

The sythezoid’s eyes darted away as he processed. Avoiding her returned hazel glance. He knew it would betray his discomfort. But stoicism was not what he wanted with his Wanda during moments like these. He wanted her to see him… really see him… even in time of uncomfortable vulnerability. 

“This body was not made with human reproduction in mind, but synthesized evolution.” Vision said, finally breaking the silence. “Pleasure, desire… arousal… these are constructs that I loosely understand in definition only, and by observing how they manifest in you…who I care a great deal for. And that was enough for me.”

“Was?”

He finally brought his eyes back to her face. Her expression, contorted in aching sympathy, made his eyes close. The repressed hurt upon his face seemed an honest response, though he knew it would further upset the situation. He sought to remove himself before causing Wanda more distress.

“Vision, no…” She gently protested, but his form  disappeared from the tub and rose outside of it. The vibranium striations across his broad back glittered from the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “Vis…”

He turned towards her, his smile was back, as if it had never left. “Room service will be here soon. I surmise it best I not greet them naked.” He stooped to kiss her on top of her head, then collected his clothes before leaving her presence.

#scarletvision #wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #Advanced Settings #drabbles #fanfiction #FOR THE FANDOM

[sopewriters]

Mιɳԃ Gαɱҽʂ | 01

Summary: With a murderer prowling the streets, and a charming villain on the loose, all bets are off.

Pairing: Jaehhyun X Reader; Hero x Villain AU

Word Count: 4.9K

Warning(s): None yet.

“Run the tape again.”

The screen flickers dimly, lighting up your gaunt features. Every part of you screams of exhaustion, as it should – you’ve hardly gotten any sleep all night. Your fingers tap against the desk in front of you, restless, and it takes everything in you not to bounce your leg.

The man beside you – your partner – looks at your tense jaw, pursed lips, and frowns. “You can take a break for tonight, you know. I doubt they’ll come back so soon.”

“But you don’t know that.” You correct harshly, making him recoil. Guilt stabs at you, and you sigh. “Sorry, I… I’m sorry Mark, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Mark smiles at you, and you only now notice the pallor of his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes. Your partner hasn’t gotten anymore sleep than you have. With a large, cracking yawn that could probably split a lesser man’s face open, you shake your head.

The protest – or lack, thereof – building on Mark’s lips immediately dies, and he exhales heavily.

“This guy is unreal.” He comments, dropping back into his seat beside you. “How does he avoid the cameras so well? They were even set up so no one would be able to dodge them – is this his Gift, do you think?”

You cast a wry glance at him, then. “No, Mark, we both know for a fact that his Gift isn’t invisibility. Remember the one time he made some sort of illusion to throw the cops off his trail?”

“Ah, right.” Something like awe passes quickly over his face, though he’s careful to school his expression at your chiding glance. “I forgot.”

“Funny, you were gushing about how wicked Joker was for weeks.” You nudge him lightly, a tiny grin on your lips – probably for the first time tonight. “It was cute.”

His cheeks immediately flush – adorable – and you wish there were better lighting so you could see them better.

Unfortunately, being a superpowered vigilante can really cast a wrench in your budget. Not everyone can be a millionaire-cum-superhero, no matter how much they’d love to be. And balancing the criminal nightlife with your actual life… well. University has always been particularly unforgiving.

“______…” He grouses, burying his face in his palms as you laugh. “Why’re you always so mean to me?”

“You just make it really easy.”

“ ______!”

“What? Am I wrong?”

Mark huffs out a breath, pushing away from the desk and standing up to flick on the light. “I’m not even gonna bother. I know you aren’t going to drop it!”

“You’re – oh my fucking god, turn the lights back off!” The measly light you do have is still blinding, making your head almost ache from how bright they are. “Mark!”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” He laughs, dodging one of your well-timed swipes. “Alright, I’m going to jet before you actually manage to hit me again. Please try and get some rest? We’ll go over this again tomorrow.”

He looks at you imploringly.

You laugh fakely. “Oh, yeah, of course!”

Mark sighs, resigned, and gives you a waning smile as he moves to leave. He pauses, briefly. “We should really find a new HQ.”

You look around at your converted closet, thinking he’s not wrong. But, again, life isn’t quite like the movies and you don’t really have the money to spare on much beyond your daily necessities. Frozen food isn’t quite as cheap as it used to be around these parts. If anything, you’re lucky you have a walk-in closet large enough to accommodate a small desk, especially in your dorm.

Going to an expensive college in a rich part of town does have some benefits even if, tuition aside, you’re financially on your own.

“We’ll see,” you mumble tiredly, head thumping softly against said desk. “You know how tight our budget is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Mark looks apologetic, giving you a quick wave before he’s stepping out, likely heading back to his own room.

Now that he’s gone, though, your place is entirely too quiet, and it really puts you on edge. At least Mark turned the light on, earlier – you might as well credit him for that – so it’s not as creepy as it could be. But still.

You turn back to the monitor, mouth pursing into a frown as you watch the slight flicker of shadows – the criminal’s only trail. Something about this guy doesn’t seem all that right, and it’s seriously making you paranoid. You’ve never interacted with him, though – that, as it seems, only really happens to the licensed superheroes in your sector – but there’s just something about him…

You turn off the monitor with a sigh, wondering why on earth you’ve stupidly chosen to deal with this guy, of all people. You ignore the little niggling in the back of your mind that tells you that you’re really just trying to put off real-life responsibilities by taking unnecessary tasks upon yourself; that’s totally not true, no. What – why would anyone think that?!

You duck your head out of your closet, tentatively stepping out into your actual room. There isn’t much in there; just your bed, a cabinet for your papers and files, and a dresser in which your clothes actually go. Most of the place is just free space, honestly, and you could have your whole hero setup here, but… secrecy is important. And your closet is a lot more private than your room itself, for obvious reasons.

“ ______ !!” The door slams open, and your enraged best friend storms inside.

Case in point.

“Hey, F/N…” You say awkwardly, leaning against your bed so you can look at her fuming face. “Um. Fancy seeing you here?”

“Why aren’t you in bed?” She pinches the bridge of her nose, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “It’s almost midnight!”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” You counter, eyes catching onto her mussed hair, puffy eyes. “I was so quiet; how could I possibly have—?”

“Mark.” She says simply, to which you inwardly groan. Of course. Mark “Clumsy” Lee lives up to his name, yet again. “Are you sure you two aren’t dating? He’s been over for whole nights before.”

“What, are girls and guys not allowed to spend the night without dating or screwing around?” You snap defensively. Too defensively, judging by the smirk forming on her face. “No. No, no, no. Whatever bullshit you’re going to spew at me right now, save it, because I sure as hell won’t like it.”

“I’m just saying, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” she sings, ducking to narrowly avoid a pillow projectile. “It’s not a big deal! Mark’s super cute.”

“And you can have him.” You mutter in response, shuddering at the thought of dating him. Being in close quarters has really educated you to some of his more… quirky habits, and you couldn’t ever deal with that on a permanent basis. Plus, he’s not really your type.

F/N just rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever, pretend all you want. I know the truth though.”

“Is there something you actually need?” You level her with a flat stare. “Or are you just trying to snoop in on me?”

She smiles guiltily, like the guilty person she is. It might as well be branded on her forehead, G-U-I-L-T-Y, and you really hope she trips over one of her stupid pencils and stumbles down to hell.

What? You can be petty if you want to be, and it’s all in your head anyway. No one will ever know.

“No, there’s nothing important.” She assures you, though you really don’t need her assurance. “I just… worry about you sometimes, you know?”

“Well gee, thanks for making my night a whole lot better with that vote of confidence.” You mutter, sarcastic as ever, though your subsequent words die on your tongue at her sharp look.

“Relax, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to know if you were going to go to bed, or if you couldn’t sleep or something.” She shrugs. “I’m being rebellious and staying up past my bedtime.”

Well.

You grin sharply at that. Maybe she can stay in the land of the living for a little longer. You take back everything you thought just a few moments ago. “Oh, have I been waiting for this day.”

So. Staying up last night was possibly the worst decision you’ve ever made. Your eyes feel like they might just pop out of their sockets any moment now and the only thing that could possibly make this better is a good cup of coffee. Or, even better, two.

But life, as always, is cruel.

“I hate you.” You mutter at your coffee pot, squinting angrily at it through stinging eyes. “You had one fucking job.”

Yep. The coffee pot, as fate would have it, has completely broken down – just to deprive you of your life, of course, no big deal. Who even needs to be awake for their 8AM discussion anyway, right?

“Stupid, useless hunk of garbage, I should just melt you down already.” Your fevered death chant follows you all the way to the front door as you sling your backpack over your shoulder. It stops there, though, because you’re too tired to keep it up.

F/N’s lucky she doesn’t have to wake up early today, and you angrily curse her in your head because goodwill? It’s all gone now. Maybe she’ll get a really bad case of the Hiccups. Maybe it’ll be terminal Hiccups.

You cringe at your own deviousness.

You manage to bike all the way to class without perishing which, in your books, deserves a gold star. You don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve somehow managed to not get hit by a car, or a bus, or a truck, or another bike, or a pedestrian (though you wouldn’t really mind that last option. People really need to stop looking at their phones while they walk, holy shit). It’s a miracle, truly.

Maybe it’s because you’ve got to attend a Classics discussion; shockingly, it’s one of your more bearable classes. Scratch that, it’s possibly one of your favorites. You might be a STEM major, but the way they discuss mythology in this class really gets to you.

And, of course, there’s your TA too. He’s probably one of the kindest, sweetest people you know – and that’s saying something, given that you know Mark and are even acquainted with Wong Yukhei, the Student Council VP. No, you don’t know how that happened and, frankly, don’t care to find out either.

“Hey there, ______.” You look up at the sound of your name, seeing your TA cock his head at you a little quizzically. “You okay? You seem a little out of breath.”

Yeah, it’s no big, I practically just pulled an all-nighter and biked all the way here using the mothballs that are my eyes, with the level of coffee running through my bloodstream hitting a critical low. It’s fine, it’s totally fine! And if you weren’t the unobservant piece of crap, sweetheart you are, I’d feel a hell of a lot better—

“I’m fine.” You make an effort not to let your gasps for air grow too obvious, giving him a strained smile. “I just, um – just biked here.”

“Ah, I see. You can come inside, you know, sit down.” He holds the door wide open for you, letting you slip inside. “Do you have water? Would you like me to get you some?”

He gives you an appraising look. “Though, something tells me you need something stronger? Coffee, maybe?”

He holds up a thermos, shaking it gently with a questioning look on his face; and, on cue, your mouth begins to water. You need it. You must have it.

“What gave it away?” You chuckle weakly, before shaking your head. “No thanks, Jungwoo, but I appreciate it.”

You last remaining braincells cry, extremely sorry for your loss.

Jungwoo sighs, “I don’t mind sharing, ______, trust me. I promise I didn’t poison it or anything, and I won’t give you much – just a tiny cup.”

He pours some out into the cap of his flask, offering it to you. You stare at the beautifully crafted drink of perfection, steam gently curling off it, and wonder if Kim Jungwoo is a god. He must be, with this sort of impeccable timing.

Still, you’d feel a little awkward taking a drink from a TA that you actually don’t know all that well. That… might not be a good idea.

“I’m really fine.” You smile tightly at him. “I promise. Thank you, though.”

But why?! your brain cells demand, and you don’t have a satisfactory answer for them.

“If you’re sure.” He shrugs it off easily, smile never dimming. He’s pretty cute when he smiles – basically, all the time – but he isn’t really your type.

You think back to the crush you used to harbor on Yukhei. Your cheeks burn when you remember that you still find your gaze fixed to his long, slender fingers on more than one occasion – but you can’t help that. He’s just… too much. It’s unfair, really. But yeah, that’s your type. Tall and handsome, and unfair.

Great, and now you’re thinking about Jung Jaehyun.

You settle back into your desk and will your blush away as you begin pulling out a notebook and a pencil. You don’t usually take notes during section – not unless you’ve got some big essay coming up that he’d review in class – but it gives you something to do instead of just sitting idle.

You quickly sneak a peek at Jungwoo and, seeing that he’s preoccupied leafing through some of his notes, play a game of Catch the Pen. You locate the nearest shadow and guide your pencil through it, propelling it with enough of a velocity for it to hurtle out of another shadow to nestle comfortably between your fingers. It’s basically like playing catch with yourself.

And yeah, it got boring after the third or fourth time, but your only other option is using your phone, which – hey, not a bad idea. A quick scroll through your social media has you holding back your coos when you see videos of cute puppies attempting to do even cuter things. God, do you love dogs.

It’s only when Jungwoo raps his fist against his desk – a cue for all of you to start paying attention – that you notice that the empty desks from before have all been filled up. You quickly stash your phone in your back pocket, before leaning forward on your desk, settling your cheek in the palm of your hand as you force yourself to pay attention.

Ah, damn it. Your eyes still sting.

“Good morning guys!” Jungwoo beams at you, entirely too cheery for your tastes, given that it’s eight in the fucking morning. “How were your weekends?”

Your mind flashes back to your weekend, and you suppress a wince. Yeah. That was… not a good time, especially for the vigilante Caligo – for you. After getting your ass pummeled by a random guy in a mask – a random guy who you think just might be Joker, thief extraordinaire, and the person who you were watching through the footage last night – you weren’t really having a great time.

Not to mention your purpled cheek, courtesy of a deck to the face. You bruise like a peach and you’re really fucking lucky that F/N has a healing ability and a penchant to not ask difficult questions. She probably thinks you’re getting caught up in some shady business – drugs, maybe? – and honestly, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth, if a little exaggerated.

Jungwoo, luckily, takes the grumbled mutterings from the rest of your class that perfectly encapsulate your weekend experience in stride, beaming excitedly and holding up a faded copy of the translation of Ovid’s The Fall of Icarus. “Well, nothing better than this to turn that around, yeah?”

You hold back a sigh as you flip to the page he’ll inevitably bring up. You’d rather read about Icarus, who the book’s title deceptively alludes to, than the rest of these short stories. But, well. As life would have it—

“Let’s talk about what happened with Theseus and the Minotaur, shall we?”

A part of you is grateful that you’ve managed to survive most of your day, and it’s really only the thought of going to your chem lab that makes you perk up.

Now, don’t be misled; you still hate having to go to lab. The actual practice, in itself, isn’t all that hard, but the fact that you have to do it at all is just so ugh. Frankly, you’re only going because it’s required for your major, because fuck chemistry, and doubly fuck organic chemistry. It’s all just way too stressful.

But, well, back to the main point: lab is only really fun because you get a whole two and a half hours to fully appreciate some A+ eye-candy. Not that you would ever actually want to objectify him that way, but your TA is just so gorgeous that it’s unfair, really. Just a smile from him could have you tripping over your feet and potentially spilling dangerous chemicals all over yourself.

As it is, you’ve managed to survive so far, if only to irritate F/N with your very accurate description of how sharp his jawline is, how his dimple is to die for, how he just looks so dependable and warm and—

“Hey Jaehyun.” You greet him as you wait outside the lab. No one’s really allowed in until your TA – Jaehyun, basically – lets you.

Jung Jaehyun, AKA “God who has literally descended from the Heavens to bless your undeserving soul”, smiles at you and – aw, yeah, there it is. That fucking dimple. Paired with his soft, unassuming smile, and the reassuring warmth of his eyes as they look at you through the soft fringe of his hair—

Deadly. That’s what he is.

“Hey ______, how’s it going?” He greets cheerily, not unlike Jungwoo earlier. The only difference is that it’s actually a humane hour of the day right now; a little past noon as opposed to oh, you know, the crack of dawn. You still hate any and all sunlight, no doubt about it – especially with the night lending itself to your element – but at least you’re somewhat awake now.

Jaehyun fiddles with the keyhole before pushing the door open. Is a lab coat supposed to look this good on a person? You aren’t sure.

“It’s pretty meh.” You offer him a shrug and what you hope is not a dorky smile. “Just stressed, you know.”

“Oh, I figured.” He nods, raising an eyebrow. “Apparently Professor Kim’s being super hard on you guys for this first midterm and, I won’t lie, with her past record…” Jaehyun winces. “Yeah, things might be a little stressful. But you’re capable, and I know you can do it with the right amount of hard work and effort.”

Then, like he hasn’t just sprung an unwarranted pep talk on what’s left of your dreary soul, he disappears behind the door. You stare at it like it’ll give you the answers racing through your mind; what the fuck, how the hell does he know exactly what to say, how the fuck is he always so gorgeous…? etcetera, etcetera.

Immediately, you pull out your phone and text F/N.

 You:

Oh my fucking god, I think Jaehyun and I just had a moment

Not like a Moment but he literally just gave me the best pep talk in my life, 5 stars on yelp

Jaehyun’s my TA btw

 Checking the time, you impatiently rock forward on the balls of your feet, biting at your lips. You figure that, maybe, instead of constantly thinking about how gorgeous Jaehyun is, you should probably also start thinking about the experiment for today. It’s just some simple identification tests, thank goodness, but those could take a long time – especially if you have to share your resources with the rest of the class.

Sharing is caring, they say and they’re wrong. Sharing, in most cases, is essentially just shooting yourself in the foot, and you’ll stand by that until the end of time. You used to share everything – even your heart – after all, and where did that get you?

You shove all of that away, filing it into the mental Untouchable cabinet and locking it up. You’re a busy person now, and you can’t waste time delving into the past. For all your bravado and bluster, though, you just… sometimes feel like you always make the worst decisions for yourself and you’re just tired of having to put yourself through the same things again and again. Like – like clockwork.

The door cracks open, and Jaehyun pokes his head outside. “Huh, that’s weird. No one else is here yet?”

A quick glance around you shows you that no, there really isn’t anyone else here yet. What the fuck? You check your phone, though, and see you still have ten minutes before lab actually begins. Ah, yeah, that makes a lot more sense now.

“You can come in anyway.” Jaehyun grins at you charmingly, and you dimly wonder if he knows the effect he has on people, with how easily he throws that smile around. “Maybe get set up? You can’t start before the rest of your class is here, obviously, but you can still be prepared.”

“Of course!” You beam at him, a little shocked at how easy it is to smile at him. With how things have been going, with both your personal life and – ehem – line of work, this is actually nothing short of a miracle.

Jaehyun really is a great guy and you think to yourself, a little sadly, that whoever gets to date him is a really lucky person. It’s not like you expect for life to work out like a fairytale with you as the persevering royal protagonist who gets the prince she’s only ever dreamed of.

Oh, you wish though. Sometimes, you even wish you had the power to make wishes come true instead of the shadow manipulation that comes so easily to you. When you think about it, you immediately discard the thought; you’re happy with your Gift, though it does get a little tricky navigating its faults.

Faults that Joker took advantage of over the weekend, obviously. You seriously screwed that one up though, to be fair, you kind of had to get home pronto to finish up your biology lab report. Still, a screw up is, ultimately, a screw up. It’s not going to change just because you slapped some excuses onto it.

Your fingers spasm, clenching tightly around your lab notebook and digging into its spiral binding as you remember, all too vividly, what happened over the weekend; the way Joker just slid out of your bindings and smirked at you, lips brushing against your ear as he revealed it was all a lie—

The spiking pain in your hand forces you to let go of your book, allowing it to drop onto the table with a muffled thump. It was all your fault, really, for not realizing that, since Joker had a Gift that allowed him to make illusions, he would obviously take advantage of it to distract you.

You were such a fucking idiot.

“Hey.” Your lab partner slides into the seat beside yours, effectively distracting you from thinking about your Weekend Failure some more. “Please tell me that I’m not the only one who thinks that the data for this lab report was ridiculous.”

“You’re not.” A light smile pulls at your lips and you try to forget about everything else. “It was pretty crazy.”

It’s not until you step out of lab a few hours later, blinking the sun out of your eyes, that you see that F/N’s finally responded to your texts.

 Wifey!! <3:

i’m glad he was so kind to you!

and yeah babe, i think you’d realize i know who Jaehyun is by now

you’ve only mentioned him a billion times

you’re such a puppy

You:

He was really nice man, he made me feel like I could actually do this

I mean idk how long it’ll last but it’s nice of him to even try ;-;

And I think you’d realize I know I’m a puppy by now

You’ve only told me, like, a billion times

 Let it be said that you’re never one to let the opportunity to be petty go to waste.

A week later, you’re sprinting up the street between your favorite Thai place and the café F/N likes to frequent, short puffs of breath escaping your lungs into the cold night air. Your worn sneakers slap against the concrete as you try to find a secluded location for you to change covertly into more appropriate ‘crime-fighting’ clothing, when your frantic gaze lands on a relatively abandoned alleyway.

Key word: ‘relatively’, because there’s really only a cat in there, of course.

“Fuck yeah!” You whisper triumphantly under your breath, stepping into the shadows cast by the nightlights, letting their familiar chill wash over you, twist its way around your waist and seep under your skin, a comfortable, cool pressure—

And you’re out again, a couple of blocks ahead of where you started, and sprint up the street, jumping shadows to the second floor of a building, from where you see figure flying overhead.

You smirk. Right on time.

“Hey! Mind giving me a lift?!” You holler up, and with a flick of his wrist, you’re being lifted off your feet, propelled to the very top of the building. A grin pulls at the corner of your mouth, and you give in as you zip along after the figure ahead, who’s dressed in dark blue. “Thanks G!”

Gravitas – Mark – spares a look at you through his mask as he runs ahead, leaping gracefully over to the next building. “Hey Caligo!”

A grin pulls at the corner of your lips through your own mask, fully visible since it only extends to the bridge of your nose. He wants to play it like that, does he?

“Impressive, but you’ve got nothing on me!” You arch in a graceful backflip over the gap between the buildings, landing steadily on your feet.

Mark chuckles lightly at you, shaking his head when you skip ahead of him through the shadows. Like you aren’t going to wring out every advantage your Gift could possibly give you; there’s no way you’re letting him have the satisfaction of possibly being better than you.

“See anyone we need to beat up?” You slow your pace enough for him to run beside you, not needing to shout to be heard.

Mark’s mask covers his entire face, but you’re pretty sure you know the look he’s got on his face right now; that little dip between his eyebrows and the lightest pout on his lips. He’s really too predictable.

“We aren’t looking for people to beat up.” He corrects you. “We’re looking for people to save.”

You come to a stop so you can face him properly, hands settling on your hips. The seriousness of the situation doesn’t stop you from keeping the playfulness from your voice, though, forced as it might sound.

“Now that’s the mind of a future hero-in-the-making.” You shrug, mouth pursing into a tense smile. “The rest of us don’t really care so much about that, you know.”

Mark falters, nearly tripping over himself even though he’s slowed to a walk. “That isn’t what I was trying to imply, you know that.”

“I know.” You provide him with another half-shrug. “I’m just saying that I’m here to beat people up; you can call it saving people or whatever else satisfies your hero-complex but, at the end of the day, someone’s still getting beat.”

No matter how close the two of you are, this is an age old argument that neither of you have been able to shake off; the constant debate of vigilantism versus heroism. At the end of the day, you’re getting the same things done, so why Mark needs to get so prickly about it is beyond you.

He is training to be a hero – which you’ve grudgingly accepted, despite your misgivings – so that might be it. Unlike you, he’s always interested in those caped fantasies, in saving the day and happy endings. Even he has to admit it; Mark is the definition of a happy fool.

And you? Well, that’d make you the tortured genius – though there’s nothing particularly genius about you. Just tortured.

“At the end of the day, we’re still saving people too.” Mark’s voice is low, brittle. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“And we’ve always ended it the same way.” You force yourself to keep your calm, though you itch to blow up at him. “So what makes this time so different?”

Mark starts forward, about to answer, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice. A very unwelcome voice.

“Hope I’m not interrupting!”

There’s a muffled thump, like someone’s landing on their feet, as you slowly turn around, eyes growing wide behind your mask.

Decked out in a tight-fitting leather bodysuit and a black choker, which delicately circles his neck, he looks at you with dancing, mischievous eyes. The black eye mask that sculpts itself to his face prevents you from being able figure out who the man behind the mask is, but that isn’t your priority right now, because you know who this is, standing in front of you with that cheeky grin.

“Joker.”

Written By: Midnight

The amazing moodboard was done by Sangria! Blessed that I am to have such a perfect wife <3

Next: 02

#kwritersworldnet #kreativewritersnet #nctwriters #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #nct jaehyun #villain jaehyun #nct jung jaehyun #villain jung jaehyun #jaehyun series #will i update consistently? let's find out

[mygalfriday]

i’ll be your man if you got love to get done

{ao3}

Eden Loft is a quiet little café just off Carnaby Street in Soho, all crumbling brick and choking vines on the outside. It looks almost abandoned from the outside, its wild exterior concealing a warm, cozy interior filled with small round tables, leather sofa, and worn armchairs. Potted plants line the bookshelves, the windowsills, and the countertop. The scent of warm scones and coffee fills the air, mixing with the verdant plant life to create an atmosphere both soothing and invigorating. It’s one of Anthony Crowley’s favorite places to stop for a caffeine fix.

This afternoon, however, he lingers outside on the pavement, reluctant to venture inside. With the afternoon sunshine filtering in through the expansive windows, it would be easy to glance inside and spot his date. The only thing stopping him is knowing the sight of whichever poor sod Anathema has guilted into this blind date will make him turn on his heel and leg it back home. He doesn’t even know why he’d agreed to this. The last time his friend had set him up on a date, Crowley had ended up spending an entire evening with some pillock who never touched his food and barely looked up from his mobile.

It’s just so difficult to meet people when he spends all his time working his arse off to make sure his club isn’t a complete failure. Even though The Serpent has been open for a few years now and even though it’s a packed house nearly every night, the nightclub still requires almost all of his time and attention. So Crowley isn’t asking for the love of his life or anything. He doubts such a person even exists. But a few months of shagging someone he can actually have a conversation with would be a nice change of pace.

And that’s what he’s doing loitering outside Eden Loft on a Sunday afternoon.

Crowley groans and reaches for the door.

He steps inside and the scent of fresh pastry and the rich aroma of expensive, organic coffee wafts over him. Tucking his sunglasses into the neck of his black t-shirt, he scans the crowded space for the man Anathema had described. Blond, she’d said. A bit old-fashioned. Crowley had taken that to mean no shagging until the third date but his eyes land on a man who looks like he just returned from tea in the Victorian era and he just knows he’s found his date. Ezra Fell.

Fucking Anathema.

Gritting his teeth, Crowley braces himself for another date from hell and saunters reluctantly across the café. The table where his date sits is beside the bookshelves on the back wall and it appears he’d plucked a novel from the shelf to keep himself occupied while he waited. He seems thoroughly engrossed in whatever it is, flipping through it as Crowley approaches, and doesn’t even look up until Crowley’s shadow falls over the page.

He lifts his head, a pleasant, absent-minded smile on his face. And Crowley’s breath catches painfully in his throat. He’s beautiful. His short blond curls look astonishingly soft and his blue eyes are bright and kind. Though his hands look manicured and soft as they rest against the crisp pages of his book, his chest is broad and sturdy and Crowley imagines he’s deceptively strong beneath that prim waistcoat. Pink-cheeked and full-lipped, Ezra Fell looks like something Michaelangelo might have painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. His clothes are utterly ridiculous, of course, and he isn’t at all Crowley’s usual type but nevertheless, he’s…beautiful.

“Anthony Crowley, I presume?”

Realizing he’s been standing in one spot staring at him like a simpleton for fuck knows how long, Crowley unclenches his jaw and forces himself to blink. “I - yeah. Ezra, is it?”

Ezra beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gestures to the seat across from him. “Please, sit.”

Disarmed by that wide smile - Christ alive, Crowley could swear the room grows a few shades brighter - there is no other option but to sit. He sinks gracelessly into the chair across from Ezra, long limbs sprawling. Sitting closer does nothing to make Ezra less attractive, only gives Crowley a better view of his perfection. It’s ridiculous. He looks like he just stepped out of an Oscar Wilde novel. Why can’t he stop staring?

“I already ordered for you,” Ezra says, oblivious to Crowley’s internal struggle to regain use of his tongue as he gestures to the cup and plate across the table. “I hope you don’t mind. It just gets so terribly crowded in here on Sundays. I didn’t want you to have to wait.”

Ezra watches him hopefully, as if expecting Crowley might be annoyed. And fucking hell, speak. “No,” Crowley manages, relieved when his voice comes out relatively normal. “S’fine. You’ve uh, you’ve been here before then?”

Surely Crowley would have noticed him at some point. He’d have looked up from his mobile one morning and saw him across the café, standing in line waiting for his tea or sitting at a table like this one reading another book. He’d have noticed a man like Ezra if they’d ever been in the same room together before. He may not have approached him but he’d have stared just as he is now - probably from behind his sunglasses and over the top of a newspaper he wasn’t actually reading - and been just as charmed by his quiet grace and sunny smile.

“Oh, quite often.” Ezra shuts his book and folds his hands primly over the cover. “But only on Sundays, I’m afraid.”

Ah, that explains how they’ve never run into each other. Sunday mornings are usually when Crowley is lounging about in bed, nursing a hangover after kicking out whoever he’d brought home with him the night before. Crowley’s usual type isn’t the sort to stay for breakfast anyway.

Ezra cuts off a bite of his pastry with a knife and fork, focusing on the task with an intensity Crowley has never seen given to food before. “The rest of the week, I usually get my tea from the museum’s café. Though it isn’t nearly as good as it is here.” He brings the bite of pastry to his mouth and sighs as he chews, his eyes fluttering a bit and a low hum in his throat. He even wiggles a bit in his seat.

Captivated, Crowley rests his chin in the palm of his hand and watches him eat. “Right,” he says, forcing at least a small portion of his brain into focusing on the conversation. “You work at the British Museum. How’s that?”

“Oh, lovely.” Ezra dabs neatly at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I oversee the archival department, preserving and maintaining all of our historical documents.”

It sounds utterly dull to Crowley but the way Ezra lights up as he talks about his job is far from boring. He smiles and gestures as he talks, regaling Crowley with a tale about a shipment of letters the museum had received earlier that week. They’d been uncovered in the attic of some ancestor of one of Hemingway’s secret lovers and apparently, they’re going to rock the literary world on its axis. Ezra talks about the contents of these letters like someone else might relay a bit of scandalous gossip and Crowley finds himself listening intently. He doesn’t even think about touching his food or his coffee, chin in hand as he gazes across the table and watches Ezra gesture as he talks and take delicate little bites of his pastry.

“And Anathema tells me you own a nightclub?” Ezra sips at his tea, watching Crowley with that same focus he'd given his food. It’s startling enough to make Crowley straighten from his slouch and wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. “It sounds terribly exciting.”

Looking at him, Crowley doubts the man has ever set foot on the same street as a nightclub but he rather loves that he’d bothered asking about it. The Serpent may be an exhausting, soul-sucking venture but it also happens to be Crowley’s baby. He tells Ezra a bit about the club, detailing how quickly it has grown and how much work it takes to keep it at the top of everyone’s list. He talks about the type of people who frequent the place, the live music they have every night, and how much he loves being his own boss.

Ezra listens to every word, asks questions in all the right places, and never once tries to interrupt and make the conversation about himself again. “It must keep you quite busy,” he says after Crowley tells him about his upcoming open interviews to hire staff for the busy season. He eyes Crowley with concern, as though trying to decide if he eats enough or gets enough sleep. It’s such a quiet, protective glance that Crowley feels something warm and foreign bloom inside his chest.

He shrugs, glancing away with his heart in his throat. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I like keeping busy.”

“Yes, I understand. My work is very important to me. But I must admit I’ve found myself craving a bit of companionship recently.” Ezra glances down into his teacup, then looks at Crowley through his lashes. Crowley stares again, helplessly charmed. “I can’t imagine you have similar difficulties finding pleasing company.”

Fucking hell. The man out of time is flirting with him.

Crowley swallows.

“May I ask why you agreed to this setup?” Ezra presses, glancing away again. “Surely you have plenty of opportunities to meet people in your line of work. I, however, am confined to the back rooms of a museum all day.”

Meeting people, yes. Loads of them. In the past three months, Crowley has brought home a lead guitarist, one of the Serpent’s bouncers, a grad school student in leather trousers, a barrister looking for a cheap thrill, and one of his bartenders. Not one of them has managed to hold his attention the way Ezra Fell seems to so effortlessly. Crowley wants to know everything about him. Why did he choose archival work? Why does he dress like a bloody regency dandy? Why are his eyes so kind and blue? Why is he so interested in every word Crowley says? Why did he choose that particular book from the shelf? How does he take his tea? What is it about him that makes that pastry look so much more tempting when it’s sliding between his soft pink lips?

Crowley wants to bring him home and study him, take him apart under his hands until he understands what makes him tick, and then tenderly put him back together again. He wants to stroke his blond hair and nuzzle his throat and call him all sorts of endearments he’s never used before on anyone. He wants Ezra, in all the ways he never expected to want anyone after a lifetime of being alone and convincing himself he liked it better that way when all along, he was just afraid no one would want him back.

Outwardly, he only shrugs again, his eyes lingering meaningfully on Ezra as he says, “Suppose I’ve been meeting the wrong people.”

Ezra blushes. 

They linger over their tea, discussing everything from politics to what they studied at university to their childhoods. Crowley tells Ezra about being an orphan churned out of the system by the age of seventeen and Ezra confides in him about his conservative Catholic upbringing and his ongoing struggle to overcome the subsequent stain of guilt religion left behind long after he shed its chains.

When the tea has grown cold and the pastries have been eaten, Crowley insists on paying the bill. And suddenly they’re standing outside on the pavement, the afternoon sun gone soft and hazy. It slants gently across Ezra’s blond curls like a halo and Crowley stares at him longingly. Angel, he thinks, and his heart skips several beats.

“I do appreciate you meeting with me, you know. I’m aware I can’t be what you were hoping for.” Ezra wrings his hands and Crowley has the sudden wild urge to clasp them between his own. “I told Anathema you couldn’t possibly-”

“You’re perfect,” Crowley blurts, before he can stop himself.

Fuck. Very smooth.

That sort of line would get him laughed at by just about anyone else but Ezra stills, gazing up at him wonderingly. As if Crowley had just reached up and plucked a star out of the sky just for him and handed it over on a silver platter. “I-” He squares his shoulders, meeting Crowley’s gaze. “I do hope I’m not being too forward but… I would like to see you again, Anthony. If you’re amendable.”

Christ, he even talks like he belongs in an Austen novel. Crowley is utterly gone on him already.

Looming over him, Crowley peers into sweet, hopeful blue eyes and swallows roughly. “I’m amendable,” he murmurs. “Very.”

“Oh.” Ezra breathes out a relieved little noise and sways toward him, his smile breathtaking. Literally. Crowley cannot breathe. “Good.”

Reaching for him with a shaking hand, Crowley cups his pink cheek and watches Ezra’s eyes widen. “This all right?”

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply. Ezra licks his lips and Crowley nearly hisses. “Quite.”

With permission, Crowley closes the gap between them and captures that enticing mouth with his own. He tastes exactly like raspberries and flaky pastry and tea. Crowley usually takes his tea without any sugar at all but Ezra tastes like five lumps of sugar and a dash of milk. His mouth opens eagerly and Crowley groans. He presses closer, leaning against Ezra’s broad chest and burying his hands in soft blond curls.

It should be impossible to taste this warm and sweet and absolutely fucking perfect but Crowley knows with sudden certainty that kissing Ezra Fell is like drinking directly from the sun itself. He loses himself in the slick, hot slide of their mouths and their grasping hands. Everything around him blurs and time loses all meaning. He isn’t aware of where they’re standing on the pavement in front of Eden Loft, he doesn’t notice the disgruntled people passing them by or the warm late afternoon breeze ruffling his hair. There is only Ezra clutching at his t-shirt and making those delightful little noises, wriggling adorably under Crowley’s wandering hands.

When they finally break apart, panting, the world feels different. As though an entire solar system has rearranged itself, orienting now around Ezra Fell. Crowley noses at his cheek, struggling to find his voice as Ezra keeps one hand curled tightly at his waist. Clearing his throat, he rasps, “Anathema told me you were old-fashioned.”

Ezra makes a soft, contrary noise and turns his head to press his lips to the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “Only in dress,” he murmurs, somehow managing to sound prim despite the arousal Crowley can feel pressing into his hip. “I assure you.”

Swallowing laughter, Crowley pulls back just enough to look into his eyes. “My place then?”

As Crowley lifts a hand to stroke his cheek, Ezra smiles. “After you.”

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #my fic

[whentommymetalfie]

Gun in my hand

A/N: I realised halfway into this story that the request was for something involving all three of them, but by then I was too invested in this, so I decided to run with it. But this really got me going, so I see this as a potential setup for a longer running plot line, if you’d like that! So I promise Alfie will get to interact more with Changretta then. You know me, I’m always scheming. References to ‘Bad things’  

Summary: Tommy finds an unexpected visitor in the kitchen one morning and realises that he may have underestimated Luca Changretta.

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, threats of rape/non-con (very brief, but I’ve put a TW in the tags) 

Wordcount: 4800

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313621/chapters/33026400

Sometimes, Tommy curses the fact that Alfie’s got well over thirty pounds on him. Namely when they’ve been out drinking. Because it somehow ends far too often with him being absolutely pissed, while Alfie is barely even tipsy.

This is the morning after one of those times. He opens his eyes far later in the morning than he’d planned to, and finds Alfie's side of the bed empty. There’s a glass of Alfie’s usual hangover cure on the nighstand, together with a note.

Gone to the office for a few hours. Thought I’d let you sleep in. If you manage to get out of bed at all today, there’s bread down in the kitchen- eat.

/A

And Tommy smiles, despite the headache.

He puts on one of Alfie’s shirts, an overly large, washed out thing –reasoning that he’ll sort himself out in a bit. Just needs to eat something before he starts feeling sick. And admittedly, it’s become sort of a habit in the morning.

His mind is pleasantly quiet as he ventures downstairs. And it’s strange, feeling so oddly at peace with everything. Despite having overslept.

Though of course it’s bound to blow up in his face, feeling that way.

And his morning takes an incredibly unexpected turn when he enters the kitchen.

Luca Changretta sitting at the table reading the newspaper is not exactly a pleasant surprise.

The sight is enough to make his heart drop, and he just knows that it shows on his face for a moment, before he can straighten his features again. He stands frozen on the threshold, his mind immediately pulling itself out of the morning daze and trying to piece together a plan.

“Good morning, Thomas,” Changretta says as he leans back in his chair, looking him up and down in a way that makes Tommy’s skin crawl. The corner of his mouth curls upwards. “What a privilege it must be for Solomons, waking up to this sight every day. I truly hope he knows how lucky he is.”

“Mr. Changretta,” Tommy greets him and walks into the kitchen, already having deemed this his only option. Changretta is no doubt armed, and unlikely to be alone. The closest gun in the house is in the dresser at the end of the hallway. He won’t make it there. “A bit unorthodox, this. If you wanted a meeting, you could’ve just called to the office. I’m sure we could’ve set something up.”

“Oh, but then I wouldn’t get to see you like this,” Changretta smirks. “My guess is you’re usually a bit more… dressed.”

Choosing to ignore this comment, Tommy walks over to the kitchen cabinet, taking out a kettle. Could he use it to bash Changretta over the head? How quick would he have to be?

“I wouldn’t get any ideas, darling,” Changretta advises, uncannily observant. “I’ve got some company waiting outside should you do something… rash. And they are not nearly as gentle as myself. Could turn ugly, this.”

“Tea, Mr. Changretta?” Tommy asks without turning around to acknowledge him, already filling the kettle with water.

“Please.”

Tommy makes tea, every movement controlled and precise. Calm. As if this is a completely normal way to start the day, and he isn’t the least bit caught off guard.  

Even with his back turned against him, he can feel Changretta’s eyes on him.

He puts down the pot and two cups, before sitting down opposite to Changretta at the table and reaching for one of his cigarette packets, the one he always keeps on there. “You don’t happen to have a light?”

Changretta pulls out a silver lighter and puts the flame to the cigarette between Tommy’s fingers. Tommy takes a purposefully slow drag, exhales the smoke in a thin stream. He can do this. It’s a game. The rules haven’t been set by him, and he’s certainly not in the position he’d like: In his own kitchen, wearing almost no clothes… unarmed… but he can still play.

“So, I suppose there’s a reason you’re here?”  

“Purely a social call.” Changretta’s right shoulder makes an every so slight shrug. “So how are you, darling? I heard from my associate you two had a little altercation. How is that leg of yours?”

Fuck, Tommy wishes he would lay off the pet names. Changretta is so clearly trying to provoke him into doing something stupid. But he’s in over his head on that one.

“As good as new.”

“They did leave your face intact, I hope? I specifically asked them to.” He fiddles the toothpick nonchalantly.

“As you can see, they did.”

Changretta takes a sip of his tea. Tommy does the same.

“How are you enjoying London?” he asks. “Seems like you’re in town a lot these days. Saw that article about the new distillery.”

“Well you’re right,” Changretta confirms. “I’ve found myself spending more time than I’d originally planned in this… town.” He says the last word in a voice absolutely dripping with mockery.

Tommy decides to cut to the chase.

“What do you stand to gain from all of this?” he taps some of the ashes from the cigarette onto the plate. “And not your… deal with Sabini, I assume you have your reasons. But this, unannounced social calls to people’s houses.”

“Never been pursued by a man before?” Changretta asks as his eyes wander again. “I find that hard to believe.”

“They usually don’t break into my house,” Tommy states and fills his lungs with more smoke. He exhales it very purposefully into Changretta’s face. “There must be men back in New York as well. Why don’t you save the condescending speeches for them?”

“Well, I suppose it must be hard for you to understand.” Changretta crosses an ankle over his knee and makes himself comfortable. “See, back at home, I’ve got everything. Money, power, status… but all those things come with a certain responsibility, don’t they?”

From his inner pocket, he pulls out a switchblade knife that he studies with undivided interest as he toys it between his fingers. Tommy resists the urge to roll his eyes. Fuck, this ridiculous parody of a man…

“In New York I’ve got my reputation to think of. Can’t just take anyone to my bed,” his eyes shift to Tommy again, who just watches him with indifference. “Furthermore, people are generally so… dull, don’t you think? Especially the upper class. And sometimes the days just blur together. Endless boring cocktail parties with tedious conversations.” He flicks the blade out and runs his thumb over the metal. “Paperwork, meetings… men who just tremble at the sight of you. Where’s the excitement in that?” he uses the knife to scrape some non-existent dirt from under his nails, before concluding, “And I must say I thoroughly enjoyed our little conversation in that dingy pub. Thought that while I was in town, I might as well stop by for a little visit.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows in a display of scepticism.

“Seems like a risky move.”

Changretta lets out a quiet chuckle.

“I’d hardly call this a risk,” he says. “See, you’re of no actual importance. If I decided to slit your throat, the only impact would be the blood stain on the floor.”

“You know, you seem to put a lot of time and effort into this,” Tommy points out. “It comes off as a bit desperate.”

Changretta settles his elbows on the tables and leans forward just slightly.

“Oh, believe me, darling, when I put actual effort into something, you’ll know.” Every word he says seems to come with a threatening implication. “This is just a nice little pastime.”

“May I suggest trying cricket?”  Tommy asks, putting his cigarette out. “Heard that’s what rich people with too much time on their hands get up to."

He wonders if he's pushing his luck.  

With calculated nonchalance, Changretta reaches across the table and takes his hand. Tommy lets him. Because as long as he does, he can pretend he’s got some sort of control over the situation. Pretend that he isn’t completely cornered.

Turning his palm over, Changretta’s long fingers close around his wrist, putting the tip of the blade against one of the blue veins, clearly visible through the pale skin.

There’s a clock out in the hallway. An old one, that Alfie inherited from that uncle of his. And it’s an expensive thing, so its ticking is that sort of soft, pleasant one. Tommy listens to it now.

“The heart is such an interesting thing,” Changretta muses and as he slowly drags the knife along the wrist. Just lightly. But the blade is sharp enough to still leave a thin, red line. “See, it betrays how we’re truly feeling.” The fingers on Tommy’s wrist push against the pulse point.

“Do you know how long it takes for a person to bleed out if you rupture one of the major arteries?” he puts the knife vertically across his wrist, letting it sit just above the skin.

“Depends on which one,” Tommy answers calmly. “Wrist? I’d say two or three minutes.” Changretta gives a thoughtful nod, pursing his lips as he lowers the knife slightly. The metal is cold against his skin.

The clock in the hallway ticks steadily.

“I must say, your utter indifference to this is rather impressive,” Changretta says. “Do you really value your life that little? Or are you just not as clever as I first thought?”

Tommy offers a light shrug, and picks up the cup with his free hand, taking a mouthful of tea before answering.  

“I think you’d rather avoid getting blood all over that suit.”

“I’ve got plenty of suits.” The knife digs into his skin, just enough to break it. He doesn’t move a muscle. Changretta watches the little droplets of blood that pools around the blade.

“I should tell you, there’s a strict ‘no weapons- policy' at this table,” Tommy says and gives knife a pointed look. “Me and Alfie try to leave work at the office. And you’re not about to actually use it.”

“You seem awfully sure about that. For someone in your position.”

“Well, just one of my many talents.” He empties his teacup. “I can see into the future.”

“Oh, can you now?”

Changretta removes the knife and releases Tommy’s wrist. When he pockets it again, Tommy sees the holster resting against his ribs. Clearly, Changretta isn’t taking any chances.

“Not just the future… I can see all sorts of things. Gypsy witchcraft, you know.”

Tommy reaches across the table and picks up Changretta’s cup, swirling it lightly to make the tealeaves spread across the bottom of it. He gives it a while, studying the indistinct pattern they’ve created with feigned interest.

“You’re acting as if you’re somehow above everyone, that you have a logical reason for everything you do,” he begins, still with his eyes fastened on the cup. “But you’re no different from any other man. You’re trying very hard to rationalise your actions. But the thing is, I don’t think you even know why you’re here, in someone’s kitchen. With a man you’ve met once.”

He looks up. Changretta is watching him with an unreadable expression.

“I’d like to hear what you think. Why am I here? In your kitchen.”

Tommy gives another shrug. “Because you’d like to fuck me. I really don’t think it’s more complicated than that. It’s not part of some fucking scheme. You’re just thinking with your cock.” He lets out a dry laugh. “And we both know where that ends. In a business like this.”

Changretta stares at him, unblinking. A faint sneer curls his lip, accentuated by the toothpick.

“Why don’t you take a look in that cup and tell me?”

Tommy focuses his attention back on the tealeaves. “Yes, see, right here-“ he tilts the cup just slightly in Changretta’s direction. Changretta gives it a quick glance, before looking up again. Tommy leans in until their faces are just inches apart.

“It ends with me putting a bullet through your fucking head.”

A bird caws outside the window. The clock ticks as steadily as before. And Changretta says nothing.

“Now if you excuse me, I need to get to the office.” Tommy stands up. It’s a calculated risk. He needs to end this conversation now. “I’m already late.”

Changretta mirrors his action and they’re stood opposite each other in the kitchen. It’s the first time Tommy’s standing next to the man, and he realises he barely comes up to his shoulder.

Perhaps he should’ve stayed seated after all.

Without any warning, Changretta’s hand comes up to grab his throat, and Tommy has to fight the urge to recoil at the touch. The hand doesn’t squeeze, just rests lightly on his neck.

Suddenly he’s standing with his back against the wall, Changretta looming over him.

“It’s harder than you’d think to choke someone with your bare hands,” he muses and runs a thumb down his windpipe. “Takes quite a lot of strength. And time. But it’s less messy than a knife.” The thumb presses down a bit, and Tommy is so close to snapping and grabbing Changretta’s arm. Tear himself away from the touch, grab the closest object at hand at use it to bash that smug face in…

He does none of those things.

There’s no room for mistakes here. It’s just his pride taking a beating. Not worth dying for. But fuck if it doesn’t take absolutely every ouns of self-control to tell himself that.

“Thought you didn’t care about your suit,” he says instead. “Why not use the knife?”

Changretta’s face splits in a grin.

“And you ask me why I’m here,” he chuckles. “This, this is why I’m here. This thrill. You can’t say you’re not feeling it too?”

“Think you’ve gravely misread the situation.”

Leaning down, Changretta puts himself close enough for Tommy to smell his ridiculously expensive cologne.

“Maybe I will use the knife,” he whispers. “Do just enough damage… make sure you can’t fight back. And take you bent over the table while you’re bleeding out.” There's a glint in his eyes, the suave façade cracking for a moment and letting something else seep through.

Right then, Tommy feels the first twist of fear somewhere deep in his gut.  

“I took you for a gentleman, Mr. Changretta,” he says. “Seems a bit… brutish, don’t you think?”

“Thought you enjoyed that sort of thing,” Changretta’s mouth is right by his ear. “Isn’t that why you’re in Solomons' bed?” He straightens up to his full, unnerving height and the hand around Tommy's neck tightens its grip experimentally.

“See, you’ve got to crush the windpipe,” he tells him as a matter-of-factly. “Not just squeeze the sides.” The thumb presses down, and Tommy feels his airways close. It’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. Changretta won’t kill him. Not now.

He listens to the clock. To the steady ticking. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink as he stares coldly up at Changretta who stares back with equal intensity in the dark eyes. The second he starts fighting back, he’ll lose what little control he has over the situation. He just has to wait this out, let Changretta play out his last card.

He’s going to think about this moment when he puts a bullet in his head.

The clock ticks. The seconds seem to drag themselves by. He just needs to wait- but his lungs are screaming for air now and he is forced to draw in a breath. But he can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe –and it’s like being crushed under a downpour of rocks, pressing the air from his lungs- and his ears fill with the sound of shovels scraping against dirt. His body starts to act on its own accord, mouth falling open as he instinctually begins gasping for breath. Hands grasping Changretta’s wrist, he pulls to remove the hand. Changretta is deceptively strong, but he has to use both his hands when Tommy starts to fight him. It lasts for a few more seconds –black dots are clouding his vision and the smell of blood and dirt somehow fills his nose even though he can’t breathe. Then, either by his own choice, or due to Tommy’s violent fight to get loose, Changretta releases him. Tommy can’t help it- he coughs and splutters his lungs fill with air. In the distance, he thinks he can hear the shovels-

“Well, I must be going now.” Changretta’s voice comes from somewhere far away, and his steps disappear over the kitchen floor towards the hallway. “Give my best to Solomons.”

Tommy manages to pull himself together enough to form an answer.

“Enjoy London, Mr. Changretta.” He regrets saying anything the second the words leave his mouth, because his voice comes out hoarse.

“I’m sure I will,” Changretta tips his hat lightly. “I’ll see you, Thomas.”

Then he leaves, and the front door slams.

Tommy finds himself on the floor, his knees having suddenly decided to give up. The cold sweat drips down his back as he tries to breathe that way Alfie taught him, in slowly, hold it for a few seconds, and then out. In and out. It's just in his head. Everything is fine...

It takes time just to gain control over his breathing again, but once he does, the scraping of shovels fade and is replaced by the steady ticking.

Fuck. He lost it.

Overwhelmed by frustration, he gets back on his feet and tries to find something to take the feeling out on. His eyes land on the two teacups on the table and he throws them both across the room, sending shards of porcelain flying. Running both hands over his face, he tries to pull himself together. No room for mistakes. No room to have a fucking breakdown. Not for him.

Something drips onto his bare foot, and it’s not until he looks down at the red stains that he remembers his wrist and sets about bandaging himself up.

For once, he’s at loss with what to do. He’s got half a mind to not tell Alfie about this humiliating little encounter, because that will no doubt result in absolute chaos. And weren’t it for the bruises he knows he’ll have around his neck, maybe he would’ve given the thought some serious consideration. As it is now, it’s no use. He’ll have to tell him.

Better just have it over with, before he changes his mind.

He calls Alfie at the office and as the signals go through, a knot of worry settles in the pit of his stomach. The thought hasn’t crossed his mind until now, but what if-

It’s Ollie who picks up, Alfie is off somewhere in the bakery. But everything is alright, no visits from Changretta or his men, and Tommy feels the tension melt from his shoulders. He informs Ollie briefly about the situation and doesn’t give him time to ask any questions before hanging up.

He’s upstairs getting dressed when the phone rings. Ollie is on the line again.

“Boss told me to say exactly this: stay right there, lock the door, he’s on his way,” he says as if reading from a script. “There was a lot of graphic threats of violence as well - but maybe we don’t need to-“

“No, it’s fine.” Tommy doesn’t need him to recap that for him, he gets the idea. So he just hangs up and goes to pour himself a whiskey as he waits for Alfie to come home, fully prepared to face a virtual storm. He can hear Alfie in his head, ‘fucking told you we needed to have people watching the house!”

When a key turns in the lock on the front door, Tommy is well into his second whiskey and braces himself to sit through one of Alfie’s more violent rants.

“Tommy?” Alfie calls out as his steps approach over the hardwood floor.

“In the living room.” His voice is still hoarse. Fuck. This is not a conversation he’s looking forward to.

Alfie appears in the doorway, eyes wide and chest heaving in too fast breaths, as if he’s just run the entire way from the office. Tommy prepares himself for a flood of question and then some screaming.

But Alfie just crosses the floor in two long strides and pulls him into a tight hug, cradling his head in one of his hands and pressing a kiss against his temple. Then he holds him there, arms almost convulsively tight around him and nose buried in his hair. Pulling himself out of his mild stupor, Tommy returns the hug and strokes his back in a comforting gesture.

“It’s okay, Alfie,” he says and hopes his voice doesn’t sound too broken. “Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Alfie mutters into his hair and shakes his head. “It’s not fucking fine.”

They stand like that for a long while before Alfie pulls out of the embrace, eyes now scanning Tommy’s body for injuries.  

“Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch.” Tommy holds up the bandaged wrist. He’ll explain the bruises around his neck when they unavoidably appear. One thing at a time.

“Do you need a doctor?” Alfie asks, voice soft. It almost makes Tommy wish he’d get angry instead.  

“Does it look like that?” he quirks an eyebrow, but Alfie isn’t the least bit amused

“I need you to be completely fucking honest right now, Tommy,” he says. “We don’t have to go to the hospital, I’ll get one to come here- If you-“

“I don’t need one.”

Alfie doesn’t push the matter, but the implications of the question hang in the air. Tommy resists the urge to shake his head to rid it of the intrusive thoughts.

Now, when the initial fear has settled, Alfie lets go of Tommy, takes a step backwards as he clenches his jaw tightly.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” he snarls through gritted teeth. “I’m going to take that fucking toothpick and shove it into his eye until it punctures his fucking brain- That arrogant piece of-“

“Alfie, you need to stay calm,” Tommy attempts to quell this outburst. “This isn’t helping.”

“You want me to stay calm?” Alfie snaps, bearing an eerie resemblance to a bull ready to impale someone on their horns.  “That fucking cunt waltzed into our fucking house, like he fucking owned the place, and you want me to stay calm?”

He’s spiralling. And Tommy knows that if he’d like to avoid a full on rampage, he’ll have to defuse the situation. He honestly can’t handle any more of this shit today.

“Alfie-“ Tommy takes his face between his hands. “Look at me, I need you to keep it together, alright? None of this, not right now.”

Alfie stares wide eyed at him, and Tommy meets his gaze.

“He could have-“

“You can’t count all the things that could’ve happened in this business,” Tommy cuts him off. “That if anything will drive you insane.” He stares unwavering at Alfie, hoping to install some sense of security. “Nothing happened. He’s all talk.”

For just a second, he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Alfie or himself of this.

“Then what the fuck did he want?”

“Just a little pastime while he’s in London,” Tommy shrugs it off. “I recommended him to try cricket instead.”

Alfie blinks.

“Bloody stupid sport, that,” he grumbles.

"Would suit him fine, then." Tommy pulls him into another hug, cradling his head as Alfie buries his face in the crook of his neck. His breaths are even now, calm, and his shoulders slump.

“If you think I’m about to let this fucking slide-“

“Obviously not,” Tommy rolls his eyes despite Alfie being unable to see it. “But you and me both know that you can’t make decisions when you’re like this.”

Alfie lets out an indignant huff, but doesn’t pull out of the embrace. And he doesn’t seem to be willing to discuss the matter right now.

Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d been angry, because this reaction -that he doesn’t push, doesn’t scream and rage and throw things- it shows how much Alfie’s feared for him.

Fear makes people do irrational, stupid things.

Tommy knows right then that he can never let Alfie know everything that transpired in the kitchen, because then he’ll lose it completely.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers. “We’ll figure it out.”

And maybe if he never tells anyone, it’ll be like it never happened. And he can let the memories of Changretta’s hands around his neck fade, blur at the edges until they disappear completely.

Tommy can’t fall asleep that night. His brain won’t turn off –it’s working frantically on puzzling together a plan- Set up a meeting with Sabini, propose a truce, make him see that in the end, Changretta will fuck him over- find out more about Changretta… what his personal life looks like… if anything can be used as leverage-  

He needs to solve this. Because Alfie is not thinking clear at the moment –much like Tommy expected, once the first shock had settled, he went on a rather long and violent rant about all the different ways he planned on ending Changretta’s life.

Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow, or in a day or two, once he’s settled a bit. And by then, Tommy will have figured something out. This is what he’s good at.

Alfie is sound asleep next to him, after Tommy’s successful endeavours of tiring him out. Tommy knows a few ways to make him forget all about his worries for a little while. Another thing he’s good at.

If only it worked as well on his own head.

He needs to sleep. The familiar weight has already settled on his chest, memories of all those restless, lonely nights spent staring at the wall or wandering the streets aimlessly blending into his rational thoughts. There’s no room for that now- his head needs to be clear.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on Alfie’s breathing, the warmth of his body next to his. It usually helps. Though not tonight, it would seem, as the thoughts continue to spin in his head. Changretta’s self assured smirk, the hands around his throat, he needs to solve this, keep Alfie sane- things were too good, and everything will fall apart if he doesn’t figure this out-  

With all his attention on Alfie’s breathing, the sudden hitch in it causes him to instantly open his eyes to look at him. A frown has appeared on his previously so peaceful face and he begins to move about ever so slightly, shifting uneasily in his sleep. Tommy nestles closer, hushing him gently. He knows the signs of a nightmare when he sees them, as rare as they are with Alfie.

Alfie mutters something he can’t understand, the frown deepening. He wonders if this is what it’s like for Alfie, to watch him during the nights…,

“Shh, it’s just a dream,” he whispers and strokes his hair, “Just a dream, love.”

Alfie’s eyes snap open and he sucks in a harsh breath, as if he’s been suffocating and suddenly can breathe again. Cupping his cheek, Tommy turns Alfie’s face towards his and their eyes meet through the darkness of the bedroom.

“Tommy?” the question comes as a sharp exhale as Alfie reaches out for him, hands fumbling over the back of his neck and down his shoulders.

“I’m here,” Tommy curls himself around Alfie’s larger body, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing his forehead. “Everything’s alright.”

They stay wrapped up like that for a long time, Tommy running his hand down Alfie’s back.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” Alfie mutters suddenly, clearly not all there in the head. “You know that right? I’ll-“ a yawn escapes him. “I’ll keep you safe.”

There are about a million logical things Tommy knows he could say right at that moment. But he chooses none of them.

“I know,” he whispers, only because it’s what Alfie needs to hear right now. "Go back to sleep."

“No, you’re awake…” Alfie is already drifting off again, words turning slurred. “Bad night?” It’s an instinctual question by, even when he can just barely keep his eyes open. Tommy hushes him.

“It’s fine, you just woke me up with all your tossing and turning,” he says softly and cards his fingers through his hair. “Just sleep.” Too dazed to catch the lie, Alfie just hugs him a bit closer.

Tommy soon feels him relax in his arms, and it somehow makes the unease crawling in his chest settle. And soon enough, he falls asleep too.

#alfie/tommy #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #luca changretta #threats of #tw: rape #tw: violence

[thehungrykat1]

Novotel Manila Welcomes Summer With Opening of Ice N Cream (Part 2)

Summers in the Philippines are excruciatingly hot. They say that you can even fry an egg outside just by placing it on a hot concrete floor, and I totally believe that. So what’s the best way to cool and refresh ourselves during these sizzling summer months? Let’s have ice cream! Novotel Manila Araneta Center has the perfect solution to our problems as they open the newest and hippest ice cream parlor in the city, Ice N Cream by Novotel. The Hungry Kat was invited to the media launch of Ice N Cream last April 11, just two days after I had checked out from my summer staycation at Novotel Manila. It was great to be back at my new secret hideaway in Cubao and try all these fantastic ice cream flavors. 

But before that, let’s get back to my overnight staycation at Novotel Manila (read part 1 here) where I found another way to beat the summer heat. Their Swimming Pool is located on the sixth floor and is open from 6:00am to 7:00pm. I did not imagine this hidden tropical oasis sitting right here inside the busy Araneta Center, so it was so refreshing to get my feet wet and take a dip inside their lovely pool.

Families will definitely enjoy bringing their kids to the swimming pool for a morning or afternoon of fun and bonding. They can also learn essential swimming skills this summer through the Bert Lozada Swim School from March 29 to June 19, 2017. Kids and even adults can have sessions of learning and fun before the school season starts again.

I wanted to avoid the crowds so I decided to hit the swimming pool early in the morning after I woke up from my relaxing slumber. My massage service at In Balance Spa last night was really effective and it was so tempting to just lie in bed all morning, but I also wanted to take a quick swim.

Just beside the pool is the 6th Pool Bar and Lounge. This is a casual pool bar by day but it transforms into the trendiest outdoor club at night. Guests can groove to the beats of the resident DJ and experience a pool party during weekends and special events.

I just love having the pool all to myself which is why I usually wake up very early to catch this serenity. After a few laps around the pool, my tummy was already telling me that it was time to head down to Food Exchange for a yummy breakfast buffet. 

Food Exchange Manila offers its breakfast buffet from 6:30am to 10:30am. Guests at the Club floors can actually have their breakfast either here or at the more private Premier Lounge, but I always like the wider selection at the hotel cafe so this is where I usually have breakfast first. I did have an indulgent dinner last night so I really needed their Juice of the Day to keep my appetite healthy.

A wide selection of breads and pastries are available like the Ube Ensaymada which is a highly recommended item. Early risers can also get as much Puto Bumbong as they want as well as crepes, salads, fruits and more.

They also offer a good range of hot dishes like the Homemade Corned Beef which is a thicker and meatier version of those canned items. The Canadian Bacon was also a popular dish with its low fat bacon. I had some fried eggs prepared which I placed on top of my garlic rice and that was all I needed. Noodles and even pizza are also on hand with several juices and beverages to choose from.

After my breakfast at Food Exchange, I went up to the Premier Lounge to check out the breakfast setup there. The lounge is a better venue for those who want a quiet and more private breakfast experience. While the selection may be smaller, you get a much better view of the city. As expected, I could not help myself from having a second breakfast so I ordered a cup of hot chocolate and helped myself with a plate from the buffet table. That is how The Hungry Kat enjoys breakfast.

The best thing about staying at the Executive Room is that you can request for late check out as long as it is available. My check out was scheduled at 4:00pm so that gave me even more time to explore the hotel facilities. The one area that really impressed me at the hotel is their expansive bridal garden and tent called the Versailles Garden. This 2,500-square meter outdoor events venue can be found at the back of the swimming pool area and offers a spectacular place for weddings and celebrations. Many special occasions have been held at this venue which gives its guests an exclusive and enchanting area.

Would you believe that this picturesque garden paradise can be found right inside Cubao? I would have never thought that a place like this even existed here at the Araneta Center but Novotel Manila has definitely transformed the way we see this busy commercial district.

Novotel Manila is even taking it one step further this summer with outdoor movie screenings and garden picnics at the Versailles Garden all weekends of April starting April 15. Take a break and bond with family and friends while watching exciting movies at this outdoor oasis.

Another reason to visit Novotel Manila Araneta Center is the newly opened Ice N Cream by Novotel located at the lobby floor just beside Food Exchange Manila. The newest ice cream destination started scooping to the public yesterday, April 16, 2017 and gives everyone the coolest and sweetest reasons to beat the smoldering summer heat.

This hip ice cream parlor is not just for hotel guests but for anyone who wants to get out from the heat and enjoy their fun and creative ice cream flavors. There are around 30 different and unique ice cream flavors to choose from which you can enjoy on a cup or cone starting at only P100 per scoop. I think that’s much better than going to those crowded coffee shop for a cup of coffee that is twice as expensive.

Novotel’s ice cream are made from premium local and imported ingredients from Germany and France. These are all homemade and gluten-free, with less sugar and absolutely no stabilizers, resulting in a very creamy texture with high quality and consistency. Some of these flavors, like the Purple Dream with ube and langka, are found at the dessert section of Food Exchange Manila but diners loved these so much that Novotel decided to set up their own ice cream store.

Ice N Cream by Novotel showcases many creative and yummy flavors like Cocoyeah, creamy coconut milk mixed with slivers of young coconut meat; Breezy Berry, a mélange of berries married with the cool breeze of mint; or Sugar-Free options like Oh Honey Honey, local lime zing blended with Tagaytay honey. 

Other Philippine flavors are also highlighted like the Leche De Almond with its velvety leche flan crowned with crunchy Almond Florentine. The Passionista, on the other hand, has a pleasantly sweet and tart silky passionfruit goodness.

Ice N Cream by Novotel also offers classic flavors with catchy names such as Oui Vanilla, Choco Goes Nuts, It Match-a Been Love, and Wake Me Up Before You Go Go which has rich notes of coffee with real coffee bean crunch. They even have alcoholic ice cream flavors like Kirsche Me, a black forest ice cream with high quality couverture chocolate and sponge infused with fruity Kirsch brandy. Or try the Papa Don Preach with plump, juicy raisins enhanced with a kick of warmth from rum. All these exciting flavors are sure to keep ice cream fanatics coming back for more.

During the media launch last week, I was privileged to be one of the first to sample their myriad of delicious flavors. I ordered two scoops of ice cream on a cone with Choco Goes Nuts and Oui Vanilla flavors. I was really surprised with the creaminess of the ice cream which are almost similar to other imported ice cream brands. Novotel Manila takes pride in their homemade ice cream flavors and I can attest to the quality of their creations.

Guests can also choose to have their ice cream inside a cup for the same affordable price. You can also add toppings to your ice cream to personalize your treat.

Aside from the yummy ice cream offerings, Ice N Cream by Novotel also features freshly made pastries and baked favorites like Buko Pandan Layer Cake, Coconut Cheesecake, Chocolate Praline Cake, Croissant, Danish breads, Double Chocolate Chip cookies and much more. They also offer milkshakes and Carmen’s Best ice cream flavors for even more variety.

One ice cream monstrosity that is available at the Gourmet Bar by Novotel is the 15-scoop Le Mont Gourmand which is now also available at Ice N Cream. Media guests were invited to participate in a fun ice cream challenge to design and create their own bowl of Le Mont Gourmand. 

We had all these toppings, syrups and sauces at our disposal to create the best and most creative bowl of Le Mont Gourmand ice cream. It was not as easy as I thought because this bowl is huge! We also had to act quickly because the ice cream was melting fast.

Here it is! Presenting our own Le Mont Gourmand. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to win the top prize but we did have fun sharing and devouring this colorful bowl of ice cream.

Here’s another great treat from Novotel Manila. From April 16 to 29, 2017, Ice N Cream by Novotel will be having a Buy 1 Take 1 offer for the purchase of one scoop of any ice cream flavor (diner pays for the higher priced ice cream flavor). What’s more, if you are social media savvy and aspiring “IT” girls and guys, you can join the search for the Novotel iScreamers: The Ice N Cream Dream Team. Simply follow Novotel Manila’s Facebook page and look for their Ice N Cream contest video (here’s the link). Share on the comments why you should be part of Novotel iScreamers and take your shot to be part of the lucky five to win exciting prizes such as a year’s supply of ice cream at Ice N Cream by Novotel, one overnight stay in an Executive Suite with breakfast and Premier Lounge access similar to my summer staycation, exclusive passes to product tasting, events and new flavor launches, plus a meet and greet with the Bb. Pilipinas Candidates on April 28, 2017 during the Ice N Cream grand launching! Check out the full contest details here.

I never thought that I would enjoy having a staycation at Cubao, but everything during my stay at Novotel Manila Araneta Center has been magical. It has been a while since I last stayed in the Cubao district, but Novotel Manila has truly transformed the way I see Araneta Center and I’m sure this is the case for other travelers as well. Other higher priced luxury hotels may be more popular in Makati or at Roxas Boulevard, but Novotel Manila is now my favorite secret hideaway this side of the city.

Novotel Manila Araneta Center

Gen. Aguinaldo Avenue, Araneta Center, Cubao, Quezon City

990-7888

www.novotel.com/Manila

www.facebook.com/NovotelManilaAranetaCenter

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